14:11:04 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond

John sets the phone to vibrate before placing it into his front pants pocket, then headed down the hall to room 214. He swore under his breath after a quick glance at his watch. If I need to be at the Respite at 15:00, that means I gotta leave here by 14:45 at the latest. I'll need to check with the Doc before that... so what? 15 more minutes with this fragger? Maybe 20?

As he approached, Fragger #1 looked up and nodded from where he was leaning near the door. John returned the greeting and asked, "Any news on our girl?"

The bodyguard pushed-off the wall and opened the door for the old runner. "Not a thing." As he stood aside, he motioned to his partner who had turned at the sound. "It's been a while. They must have hit something important, huh?"

John gave a slight shrug and made room for Fragger #2 to exit. "How the frag should I know?" As the other bodyguard moved past, their prisoner came into view. He was rolling his head back and forth, eyes squeezed tightly shut, obviously in pain. Looking back, he said, "Listen, I got somewhere I gotta be at 15:00. If I ain't out in 15, knock on the door." He moved into the room without waiting for a reply.

The door clanged shut behind him. At the sound, the goon's head lolled forward. His eyes widened at the sight of the samurai standing before him, bloody pliers in hand. As the man looked down at his ruined hand, John felt a momentary twinge of conscious... which he quickly squelched. After all, hadn't these fraggers just tried to kill him?

He squatted near the chair so that he would be closer to eye-level. In his poor Japanese he said, "How are we feeling? I just got off the phone with an old friend. His name may be of interest to you. It was a Mr. Ueda. Ueda-sama was very interested in your story, especially the part where Renzo Saguchi ordered the hit on the Chinese woman. He was curious who gave Saguchi the authority. So curious, in fact, that he is sending some associates here so they can question you themselves."

The goon's eyes widened further and he began to thrash. John shook his head. "No reason to get so worked-up. I think I have a solution. Tell me what I want to know now, and I'll arrange it so Ueda-sama never gets his answers from you. If not, well, I'll continue," he held up the pliers between them, "and I'll make sure that there's plenty left for Ueda's men.

"Why did Saguchi order the hit on the Chinese woman?"

11:52:57 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace, Apt 203. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS

Lunch plans made then. Good timing. Something to do Tony thought. Checking the time, he decided to get some exercise in, to stretch out any lingering stiffness from yesterday's shootout at the garage and this morning's activities with Reign. Moving his coffee table around and changing the trid to a Cantonese street-music channel, he began to strech. The stretches morphed into stances, that morphed into a full on shadowboxing routine; at the end of a half-hour, he was sweating his earlier frustration and guilt out profusely and turning the heat down in the apartment.

12:30:44 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace. 1404 E. 14th Ave, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
A long, cool shower, a hot shave, and a change into a casual suit later, he walked down the stairs toward his car and the Landing.

14:16:19 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond

The goon totally freaks out at Scrapheap’s declaration that some of Ueda’s guys were on their way. He starts thrashing wildly, and for a moment, Scrapheap wonders if his prisoner will tear himself free through sheer strength alone. After a few seconds, he quickly realizes his struggles are futile.

Gasping for air, he continues to struggle almost instinctively, but finally answers, “I don’t know. Renzo told us to do the job. I’m not even a full Yakuza. None of us were. This was our test. If we whacked her, we were in. If not…” his voice trails off. He doesn’t have to say any more.

Looking at the floor, he says quietly, “Forget it. Ueda-sama’s serious stuff, but Renzo…” Shaking his head, he says, “No way man. I’m not telling you anything more about Renzo. Ueda-sama might be pissed, but I’m not chancing Renzo even thinking that I sold him out. You want to know? I already told you the truth, I don’t know. If you want to know anything more, well, go ask him yourself.”

He looks up, and his eyes have a slightly maniacal look to them, and his face contorts itself into a wild smile, the smile of someone who has nothing left to lose. “That is, if you’re still standing when the question clears your lips.” He starts laughing wildly, the laughter of a dead man who knows the only question left is whether Scrapheap deals him a bullet quick and nasty, or Ueda’s men take their time with him slow and painfully.

03:32:04 Friday 12 January, 2063 - 7445 S Hosmer St, Tacoma

Eyes’s attention wanders momentarily as he scans the restaurant and the parking lot, alert for signs of danger. He almost does a double take in front of Stan but manages to control himself with great difficulty. Standing outside in the parking lot, he sees a pale child in street clothes, seemingly unruffled by the cold despite wearing only jeans and T-shirt.

It isn’t that oddity that almost caused him to double take however, bitter cold outside notwithstanding. No, it’s the fact that the child has empty white eyes with no iris’s, just blank white orbs sitting in gaunt and drawn eyesockets, and yet is quite obviously staring directly at him through the window.

Lightning flashes outside, and the distant roar of thunder sounds in the distance. It begins to rain outside, a hard and sudden downpour that drenches the child, who makes no movement, but continues to stare at him unblinkingly with those large, empty, white eyes…

03:29:55 Friday 12 January, 2063 - 7445 S Hosmer St, Tacoma

Eyes shrugged. "Null sweat. Used to work odd hours like this; it brings back memories, really."

Focused on evaluating Nervous Stan, Eyes was almost startled by a waitress appearing next to the table with a menu. "Can I start you off with something to drink?" she asked in that I'm-so-tired-but-I-want-a-good-tip standard voice of the service industry.

Pfuh, this guy's nervousness is starting to rub off. "Coffee, please," Eyes replied, then added, "Water too; no ice. Thanks." Too much coffee on an empty stomach might be just as bad as none.

22:05:58 Monday 08 January 2063 – Domain, 810 Bishop St, Tacoma

Difficult at first through the distraction of the pounding music -- but then Vedic understands, watching the defensive perimeter thread itself not-quite-unobtrusively through the oblivious dancers, half-drugged protest at a dug-in elbow, sharp "Hey!" from another stage where another part of the pattern was taking shape in the wave of people shouldered aside. An attack is invisibly taking shape on the other side of that door; maybe all the exits, Vedic doesn't know, but he'd arrange it so were it him. Someone -- maybe the bouncer -- has uncovered it, whether just this side of in time or just too late remains an open question. A slight hiss escapes his teeth as he realises his exposed position. Here, against the railing, if someone from the entryway were to look up before they reached the concealment of the stage directly below him -- and there are three stages even above him, and quietly-loosened pistols in hidden holsters positioning themselves -- he'd have worse than no cover at all.

Two half-flights of crowded stages away, in that first instinctive survey-sweep of the place Vedic remembers having spotted a ladder climbing toward the beams and catwalks of the place: from there would certainly be access to machinery and outside roof. Other than that are only the assumed (but as yet unspotted) exits which ought to exist somewhere above and behind the open bar area, one for supply and backstage and maybe a separate one as a private office entrance: but whatever's going on here is more than likely to have the management areas as its primary targets. The stairs and the differing elevations of stages confuse real distances, he knows only the general layout of the place, two incompletely nested patterns of one main stage and two raised, and the whole above the open bar area, but there isn't much question there are even more writhing bodies blocking that path than there are to the ladder. On edge since he'd entered the place, he'd kept his exit clear -- but only the one leading to the front door, where the hostesses had collected coats and cover. He could not spot them there now.

Yet when trouble comes it is from a direction altogether unexpected --

14:19:26 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond

Scrapheap watched as the goon laughed his way off the deep-end. Though he often tried to forget, he had done this many times and knew when he'd gotten everything of use out of a subject. He placed his hands on his knees and pushed himself upright.

Ignoring the man's laughter, he walked over to the table and used a rag to clean off the pliers before replacing them. He then gathered his things and knocked on the door. As he waited for it to open, John gave in and lit a cigarette from his dwindling pack. He inhaled deeply and donned his armored jacket. Behind him, laughter had turned to sobs.

Once in the hallway, he turned to the bodyguards, who were looking at him expectantly. "I'm gonna go see if the Doc's available. At least one of you should stay here." #1 looked an order at #2, then followed the older man down the hallway.

As they neared the treatment area, and more importantly the oxygen tanks therein, John paused to carefully grind-out his smoke against the wall. Putting the remaining portion back into the pack, he then walked over to see if he could find Doc Carson.

03:30:41 Friday 12 January, 2063 - 7445 S Hosmer St, Tacoma

Shrugging off the white-eyed child outside, Eyes turns his attention back to the business in front of him. Stan orders a coffee as well, then turns back to him.

“Listen, I’ll cut straight to it. I’m here on the run cause Saito’s goons are after me. He’s been making some moves against the University, and they sent me here to try to get some help. They told me I should come talk to you, cause you were connected here, and you’d be able to help, or at least steer me to someone who could.”

His eyes are desperate. “Look, I don’t know what kind of terms you’re on with the University right now, but Saito is trying to wipe us out, and if we don’t do something to hit back or stop him, he just might. Can you do something, anything to help us?”

The waitress comes back, bringing their coffee and water, as well as Stan’s silence during her arrival. While she’s serving them, Eyes takes the opportunity to gather his thoughts, idly looking out the window while doing so. When he does, he notes that the white eyed child is gone.

14:23:35 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond

And find Doc Carson he does, flagging him down in the hall. Before John can even ask, Doc shakes his head sadly. “It’s touch and go chummer. She’s in critical condition and we’re doing everything we can to stabilize her, but they got her pretty good. Put a couple of holes in all the wrong places, you know?”

He consults a few charts in his hands, then looks up and continues, “I’d say there’s a chance she’ll make it, but I wouldn’t want to bet the farm just yet. Oh, and you do plan on doing something about your, ahem, friend in room 214 I hope. You don’t plan on just leaving him here?”

14:24:15 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond

As usual, John was struck by how out of place Doc Carson looked. His tanned skin and surfer looks just did not fit with the grubby shadow clinic. He would have looked more at home on some hospital-based trid soap opera.

"Uh, yeah. 214." John looked at Fragger #1, then put his arm across Doc's shoulders and led him aside. "Actually, chummer, I was hopin' ta do just that. You know how tight nuyen's been with me lately, so I was thinkin' maybe you could farm the guy out. Other than a couple of bruises and broken fingers, the fragger's in good condition. It'd cover Ms. Lin's bill and more." With a lopsided grin, he added, "Anything after the bill'd be considered a tip from an appreciative client."

Doc Carson looked at him, but said nothing. After a second, John dropped the smile and continued. "Don't fraggin' worry, chummer. This guy was totally fraggin' expendable. No one's gonna be lookin' for him."

03:32:11 Friday 12 January, 2063 - 7445 S Hosmer St, Tacoma

All at once Eyes registered what he'd been seeing out the window. Time to go. Now. Images of dead bodies echoed through his head, along with Tony's words: "The guys working for Red Queen at the warehouse weren't very old. Still kids, I think. And, to top it off, they jacked directly into the two dead people's heads." The antique subway token, still in his pocket all week, dragged on him like a stone around his neck. It looked more and more like his first suspicion was right after all.

It also looked like he was beyond fragged. Best advice is to leave. Get up and walk away. Now. But, as ready as he was to leave, as much as he could feel a sniper's bullet aimed at his eardrum right then, he couldn't leave just then. Nervous Stan, another 'student' at the University, someone who talked, acted, even looked something like he did a scant few years ago was watching him, waiting for an answer to yet another plea for help. The plea was somewhat similar to what Oracle made a few hours ago... but now he was mixing metaphors, a sure sign of brain drain catching up.

If he up and left, the kid would be fragged almost instantly, that much was certain. Even if whatever nebulous forces that were outside didn't attack either one of them, Stan must have really been down on his luck to be asking one of Uni's prodigal sons for help, especially one as down-and-out as him. Likely he had nowhere else to go.

Well, than stand and deliver, if you're not going to run. Either way, sitting here just thinking is gonna get you killed. Eyes blinked; when had he started addressing himself in the second person? What the frag does that have to do with anything? Time to make a choice.

Shaking his thoughts loose, Eyes leaned an elbow on the table, casually positioning his coffee cup between his mouth and the window. "I'm not sure what they expect from me," he started, eyes hoping to catch a glimpse of something through the growing storm, and paying particular attention to his bike, "I tried playing the hero once, as they well know. I did it poorly. Which, they know, is the reason I'm here, instead of still there."

He took another drink, sighing inwardly. He couldn't just leave the kid empty-handed. "Zeyda," he finally said, "I'll give you his number." Eyes took one of the flimsy paper napkins and wrote down one of the LTG numbers he used to get in contact with the fixer. "He could help with probably anything they might need; he seems to have a good head on his shoulders."

Eyes shrugged, passing over the note and taking another drink. "Other than that, maybe talk to Carl? He's over at Washington; Uni's probably got his number. He likes them more than he likes me though, so don't tell him I sent you."

Taking one last sip, he set his coffee down and dug out enough money to pay for it and a little extra. "Not sure what else I can do. You think of anything, let me know. But I've got problems of my own, and it looks like one just caught up. I'm gonna leave, and I think you should too."

14:25:49 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond

Doc Carson sighs, then answers, “All right fine. But you geek him yourself. I don’t want any of that being traced back to this place or any of my people. As far as we’re concerned, this is a legit donated body and none of us saw or had any reason to think otherwise.”

Scrapheap nods. He wasn’t surprised, and he could understand the doc’s concern.

The intercom paged him, and Doc Carson turned to go. “Just leave the body in the room, I’ll get to it later.” The street samurai nods and turns to go, but stops when Carson calls after him, “And John. Be careful. I don’t want to see you end up on my table some day.”

Without turning, John nods and says, “Null sweat chummer. There’s life in these old bones yet.”

Then he heads back to Fragger #1 to give him his new instructions and decide his next move.

03:37:46 Friday 12 January, 2063 - 7445 S Hosmer St, Tacoma

Eyes gets up to leave, but Stan puts out a hand to stop him. He doesn’t grab Eyes or anything, just reaches out, pleading. Looking around nervously, he says, “Listen, we already talked to Carl. He was the one who sent us to you.”

That took Eyes aback, and he motioned for him to continue. Damn curiosity. It was supposed to kill the cat, not the snake. But I can’t help but wonder why he would’ve sent them to me. He can’t stand me.

“I’m not the only one here right now. We’ve got a couple of the others here, looking for help. But listen, I’m not the one you should be talking to. I just got sent to find you because well…” he shakes his head and looks at the table. When he speaks again, his voice is a whisper, “Because I’m expendable if I get caught. I know that. But we need you, and someone had to find you. You’re a shadowrunner, and that’s what we need, and that’s also what we don’t have. Will you come with me to talk to the others? I think you could at least hear what they have to say?”

03:39:37 Friday 12 January, 2063 - 7445 S Hosmer St, Tacoma

Eyes nearly burst into laughter when he heard Stan call him a shadowrunner. That was the second time this week that someone had called him a shadowrunner; he couldn't possibly be giving off that kind of vibe, could he? There were the criminal connotations of the word, but, like most good students of the University, Eyes had always had a creative outlook on the law, so that wasn't all that big a deal. The guy was acting all impressed, though, as if being a shadowrunner was any different than admitting to the world that you were expendable, like Stan had just done. Expendable. "Deniable". Idiot. Shadowrunner. The kid was putting too much stock in media romanticization.

But the rest of what he had to say was more important. "Aha, so a plan's already in the works then?" Eyes asked rhetorically. He's not talking about, 'help,' he's talking about a job; that was much more interesting. It made the commitment much more defined. "Okay I'll bite. But not here; this place seems- suddenly very unhealthy right now."

Hurry; time to leave. Eyes hoped that last hint was clear enough. On the other hand, he had actually seen the white-eyed kid; he doubted any of the dead victims had seen anything beforehand. Maybe that was all they were trying to do, send a warning. He hoped so.

12:55:52 Friday 12 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Although not as cold as earlier in the week, the walk from the parking garage to Miner's Landing was just as unpleasent. The humidity from the rain the night before that Tony had slept through, combined with the ever-present wind channeled down the urban valleys of Downtown removed any lingering warmth that he had from his earlier workout. Still wishing for a driver to drop him off, or at least a warmer outfit, he stepped into the warmth of the Landing

The restaurant was about half full; some wageslaves eating a late lunch, a large party near the door that was, from the snippits of conversation that Tony caught on his stroll up the stairs after nodding to the hostess, celebrating a just completed deal with Novatech. I'd wait till that cred actually gets in your account before celebrating he thought, making it up the stairs into the bar and seeing Zedya, ensconced as always in his booth away from the bar, talking to someone. The area wasn't empty by any means, but most of the current clientele looked to be occupied with their own concerns. A human on the stage played a piano, a tune that didn't interrupt the close-knit mood of the room.

Being a bit early, Tony decided to belly up to the sparsely populated bar and have a drink while his fixer made whatever arraingements that he normally did. Ordering a bourbon to ward off the chill from the walk, he took a seat where he could see both Zedya and the head of the stairs and waited for him to call.

03:40:38 Friday 12 January, 2063 - 7445 S Hosmer St, Tacoma

Stan looks puzzled for a moment, then he finally gets the hint. "Uh...yeah, I'm not really hungry anymore anyway. Maybe we should go somewhere else. I'll let you decide and just follow you."

Subtle, the guy is not. Still, at least he got the hint and indicated that he'd be willing to follow Eyes's lead.

03:40:50 Friday 12 January, 2063 - 7445 S Hosmer St, Tacoma

Eyes nodded. "Well, the next step, unless you've got more to tell, is you go back to your boss, tell him I'm interested, and we 'do lunch' as they say in the vids." He thought for a moment. "Miner's Landing has a good lunch special. I'll be there at noon, reservation Christian. That work for you?"

He hoped he wasn't sounding too stupid and full of himself. Then again, Nervous Stan there thought he was a shadowrunner, so he was probably expecting cocky and callous, just like the guys in the vids, so it probably didn't matter.

03:41:35 Friday 12 January, 2063 - 7445 S Hosmer St, Tacoma

Stan nodded. "Miner's Landing at noon, reservations for Christian," he repeated to himself. "Got it."

Leaving some money on the table for the waitress, he got up and quite obviously tried to look casual (failing miserably) as he walked out the door, leaving Eyes alone in the IHOP.

14:28:06 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - SRS Medical Systems, Redmond

John walked down the hallway shaking his head. He was hoping that the Doc or one of his staff would have just given the goon in 214 a shot of some sort, something painless, to geek him before they got to work. He didn't like having to shoot a guy, unarmed and injured, though he'd certainly done worse in his day. He just kept reminding himself what the fragger had done. That and the fact that the guy was really only alive now because he'd forgotten to switch his Manhunters to live rounds after the deal at the Clinic.

As he walked he drew a Manhunter from under his jacket, ejecting the clip of gels into his other hand. That went into a jacket pocket, from which he removed another clip. Once that was inserted into the heavy pistol, he withdrew a silencer from the same pocket and began attaching it. As they came into view of the doorway to room 214, Fragger #1, who'd up to this point been following silently, came abreast of the old samurai and looked pointedly at the pistol. "Uh, what are you doing, chummer."

John waited while #2 opened the door. Then said, without looking at either bodyguard, "Just gotta settle up Ms. Lin's bill." He then walked into the interrogation room and pulled the door shut behind him.

The two bodyguards were left to wait in the hallway. #2 looked at his older partner. "Do you think he..." Without waiting for him to finish, #1 nodded and looked back to the door. #2 swallowed heavily before doing the same. It was one thing to shoot a guy in a firefight, but a guy strapped in a chair?

The door opened and the old runner exited. He shut the door and threw the bolt before turning back to the bodyguards with a grim look. John removed the silencer and holstered the pistol as he spoke. "Doc Carson says that Ms. Lin is touch-n-go. Said there was a chance she'd make it, but didn't tell me how good of a chance. It's up to you if ya wanna stay n' wait it out."

"We'll stay until something happens, or we absolutely have to leave." #1 replied. "Like I said, it wouldn't look right, otherwise."

John nodded. "A'ight." He glanced at the door before adding, "Ya might as well go back to the waiting room. No reason to stay out here."

When they reached the room, there was another person in there. A dwarf in a torn longcoat leaned back in a chair with his eyes closed, though he looked up as they entered. John nodded to him, before drawing the other men back out into the hall. "Listen, there's something you should know. Those fraggers at the Garden, they were Yakuza. I've heard of the drek-bag they were working for, but thought he was a minor player. Maybe he's making a move, or maybe the order came from higher up. I don't know and ain't been able to find out. I also couldn't find out why they were after our girl. Either way, it could be trouble."

#2 looked a little nervous, but #1 simply said, "Doesn't change a thing, chummer. We were still paid to do a job, which we'll do. Thanks for the warning, though."

Nodding, John said, "You two are a'ight. Listen, you got names? Numbers I can reach you at? In case I hear somethin' or hear of some work down the line?"

They looked at each other for a second and surprisingly, it was #2 who answered. "We'd rather keep names out of it, if you don't mind. This isn't a full-time thing for us yet; just something we do on our time-off from the day job. We can give you a number though. We just use it for biz." Reaching under his coat, he pulls out a card marked only with an LTG, handed it to John. "Just leave a message if no one answers. It's safe."

Slipping the card into his shirt pocket, John remembered a time when this work was just a moonlighting thing for him too. It had started with an offer from another off-duty soldier, a woman from supply, to act as a guard as they exchanged goods with some smugglers from Denver. If he had known that a handshake in a smoky dive bar in Puyallup would have led him to this point, would his life have turned out differently? "Thanks. I'll give ya mine too, in case something happens."

#2 pulled out a p-sec and made a note as John spelled out the LTG. When finished, he slid the stylus away and replaced the p-sec. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, have someone here call me as soon as there's an update on her condition. If you're still here when she comes to, have her call me herself. One more thing," he added with a small grin. "Can one of you give me a ride?"

21:33:51 Thursday 11 January 2063 - Fall Inn, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"Yeah, the Steyr's alright...but the Thunderbolts standout. I like the feel of a pistol more than that of an submachine gun..."

A short silence follows, making Marquis a bit uncomfortable in the presence of his company. He adds, "I will take them in any condition, broken or destroyed," as if to convince Karma, that his request isn't too far out there.

16:22:54 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

The snow was piling up on his hat again. It was the third time he had to take it off to brush the snow away.

Stupid movie ending early, stupid theater for making me stand the whole time.

Ivan, to say the least, was a large fellow. When he had tried to sit in the seats at the Pine Center cinema, they were simply to small to support his massive frame. As he really wanted to see the movie he stood through the whole thing. He left the minute the credits rolled disgusted that it wasn't as good as he had hoped.

Now there was more standing, in the snow. He was also getting a lot of looks. Not to many trolls made it downtown, when they did it usually warranted a call to the Star.

15:04:11 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - The Respite Soup Kitchen, Touristville

John threw the van's gearshift into 'park' and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. He'd stopped at a Stuffer Shak on the way over, splurging for a new pack, though he still had a few left in the old. He lit one now, retrieved his gear, and stepped out of the van...

And right into a puddle of slush. As the frigid water poured into his boot, he shook his head and headed across the street for the Respite. Karma's a fraggin' slitch. I ain't exactly been on good behavior today, so I suppose this is what I get. Fraggin' boot...

As he made his way across the street John felt his phone start to vibrate. Slinging the strap of his canvas bag across his shoulder, he dug around in his pocket for the phone and checked the display. It was his sister, Etta. He'd called her with an update on the drive over, after Fragger #2 had dropped him off at the van. He'd kept it short, told her he didn't have time to talk, and cut off her response by hanging up. He just wasn't in the mood to listen to her whine or cry. She'd been trying to call ever since.

He'd also tried to contact Mr. Ueda again and spoke to the same flunky with the same result. Hopefully, the fact that he'd called twice would convince the Yakuza that his information was important. Hopefully, the flunky would at least pass on the message.

John started up the steps to the Respite. There were a couple of people exiting, who nodded warily in his direction. He was used to the response, didn't think anything of it. He was just happy to see that the place was open for business.

There were still gangers standing guard, who greeted him when he opened the door, though they too looked at him a little strangely. John wasn't sure that the guards were needed at this point, but it probably made everyone feel better, so who was he to say? He made his way down the short hallway and into the main dining area.

He paused in the doorway to look the place over. He'd never been here before while it was up and running, but it looked like a busy day to him. There were open spots at the tables, but not many, and no table stood completely empty. Off to one side was an area that appeared to have been set aside for relaxation, with a few card tables, a couple of couches (in even worse condition than the one in his doss), and an old trid. Sitting and standing around the trid were Max, Melina, Trancer, Megan, Tyler, Twiggy, and some of the other gangers. They appeared to be watching some news program.

John started over, but noticed the soykaf table off to one side and changed direction. As he reached for a cup, he heard Megan yelling from over by the trid. "What the frag is this drek?! What about Keira? Who the frag cares about Ashley fragging Simpson?" No one else said anything, so he quickly filled a cup and headed over. As he threaded his way through the tables, he noticed Max pull out his cell and move off to one side to talk. Melina moved to hover halfway, obviously concerned.

He walked up to where the gangers sat. Megan was obviously fuming, arms crossed and an almost comic frown on her face. Twiggy was the first to notice him. "John's back!"

John blew across his soykaf. Partially to cool it and partially to hide his grin. "Hoi, kids. What's what?"

Tyler looked over, gave him a cool-guy nod, but he was grinning too. Megan leapt out of her seat. "I'll tell ya what's what, grandpa! We just got fraggin' fragged, that's what! We don't even know by who! What's worse..." She paused as she took a good look at John. "Uh, you OK, old-timer."

John frowned as he took a sip from the chipped cup. "I'm a'ight. Why?" When Megan raised an eyebrow and looked down at his chest, he did the same. "Oh. Ah, yeah. Nul persp, kiddo. It ain't mine." His shirt was a mess of blood and Chinese food, as were his pants. Luckily, his jacket just had some dried rice and tofu stuck to it, which he attempted to brush off. "Been a busy day."

Twiggy made the universal sign for gagging, grabbing his throat with one hand and pointing to his mouth with the other. Megan said, "I'm with ya, Twig." Looking back to John she said, "That don't make me feel much better, chummer. Didja get anything at least?"

The old runner took another sip of soykaf, and looked over to where Max and Melina were now talking quietly. As he watched, they finished and the woman began to shoo the other gangers back to work. Max simply stood with his phone in his hand, looking back towards the dining area and the doorway beyond. "I didn't get much, but even so I'd rather only tell the story once, right?" Then, raising his voice he said, "Hoi, Max! Over here."

16:28:54 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

As Ivan brushed the snow from his sholders, stamped his feet to continue circulation, and ignored a group of teens staring at him from the shelter of the awning of the entrance, an off-white Ford Workhorse truck pulled up to the curb where Ivan stood. The window rolled down to revel a slim young human, barely out of his teens, wearing a bright yellow stocking cap that matched his jumpsuit.

"You've got to be who I'm looking for," the young man said tiredly, reaching down in the floorboard for a package and holding it out the window as his phone rang.

16:28:54 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"Da tovarich, thank you." Ivan held out his hand to take the package. He made sure to line up his spurs with the kids head in case there was any funny business.

16:29:10 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

While answering the phone, the driver held the package out, careful to keep it inside the car and as out of view as possible. As Ivan held out his arm for the package, the young man said angerly into the phone "And who the frag is this? Do you know who I am?" The voice on the other end apparently didn't know or care, as a bright red targetting laser appeared on the young man's chest, blurry from the snow and the windshield but contrasting nicely with his yellow outfit.

The kids hands begin to shake as he thrust both the package and the phone toward Ivan, saying "H-h-here, t-t-ake t-this," barely getting the words out as he quickly accelerated off, leaving Ivan alone again in the snow, holding a small envelope and a still-activated phone.

16:30:10 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Ivan was half a beat from diving for cover when the money and the phone was thrust into his hands. He slid the envelope in his pocket. He studied the phone for a second before putting it up to his ear.

"Da."

He slowly started to walk toward an awning to get under cover from the snow, or from bullets.

16:30:15 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"Ivan, tovarach. This weather must remind you of home, if nothing else does. And stop walking toward the door; you waited long enough for the car, what's a few more minutes? I'd hate to lose you after spending this much time finding you." a male voice said in literate Russian.

13:08:22 Friday 12 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Zeyda nods to his previous client, watching him depart, before motioning Tony over.

"Sorry, had to field a last minute request. Your note said you were looking for work? I've got a Johnson who wants a meet tonight, eight p.m. at the Waterfront Bar, just down the street. Say's the job is quick, a B&E against a clinic doing illegal implants. Grab the intel and shut down the operation is what I gather, but he's got more specifics. Can you make it?"

13:08:50 Friday 12 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"8 P.M. tonight? Sure, I'm clear. And any idea on the pay range?" Tony said, making a reminder on his psec.

13:09:05 Friday 12 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"Somewhere around the 5k range according to the information I have here."

Zeyda consults the notes on his pocket secretary.

"Watch your back out there, omae. There's whispers coming from the grapevine that something big is moving out there."

13:09:27 Friday 12 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

'Hear anything in particular?" Tony said, putting his psec back in its cage and taking a small sip of his drink. "I've got a couple of feelers out on what looks like some operators out there," he said, leaning forward casually on the booth's table.

13:09:47 Friday 12 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Zeyda shakes his head.

"You know how this business is: rumors and half-truths concealed within a web of lies and deceit. You learn to see the patterns, though, the force vectors moving beneath the surface disturbances. And this has been coming for some time, now. And it's big, multi-national. Possibly global. The strange thing is, though, it doesn't have corporate written all over it. The Fuchi collapse had all the classic earmarks of a corporate war. This is something else. Something worse."

13:10:15 Friday 12 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Tony thought about that for a moment, taking another sip of his drink. "I'm not exactly up to speed on the wackos, but there can't be that many non-Corps out there with the kind of resources to make something multi-national and big happen," he said.

Shrugging his sholders, he continued, "Like I said, I've got a line on a couple of names; don't know if they're related at all to this doom and gloom stuff, but they've popped up enough to be worth some looking. You want them, or do you want me to let you know when I turn up something concrete?"

13:10:28 Friday 12 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"See what you can nail down and pass it along when you've got something more concrete. Anything else going on?"

13:10:45 Friday 12 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"Si, capitan." Tony said with a mock salute and a grin. Deciding to skip over the shootout in the garage yesterdy, he continud in a normal voice, "Other than needing a ride down to Calfree later on this month, not much else. I'll let you know if anything interesting turns up. You got time for lunch, or should I let myself out?"

13:11:08 Friday 12 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"No, by all means, stay for lunch. I don't have further business until around 1400. I believe the special today is the BBQ tri-tip sandwich."

Zeyda smiled.

"It's palatable if not particularly enjoyable."

15:15:36 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - The Respite Soup Kitchen, Touristville

‘Ask and ye shall receive, I guess.’

Max turned towards the sound of John’s voice.

“Good you’re here…” Max stopped dead at the sight of the blood soiled street sam. “Uh…”

“S’ok chummer, like I was say’in, none of this is mine.” John answered before he could finish.

“Right.” Max says still a little bewildered. “Well, why don’t you grab a change of clothing then we can talk. We don’t have long before we need to go. Keira keeps some second hand stuff in the back storage area. All second had stuff, but it should be ok with the jacket.”

John headed for the back room, which gave Max a little time to collect his thoughts about how he wanted to proceed.

When John returned he listened intently to the information the street sam provided and shared with him the apparent cover up involving Marcus’s news story as well as the fact that he may have a lead on another shaman to help with the ritual.

After all was said and done a quick check of his watch revealed it was time to head over to the Renraku Arcology for their meeting and hopefully some answers.

16:30:15 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Ivan froze in his tracks. the red targeting dot was probably on him now. And while he bet he could take a hit, he wasn't sure he could make it to cover before the second one came in.

"Da, it is like mother Russia, but with freedom no Russian has ever known. Who are you?"

16:30:18 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

”Let’s just say I’m a friend. And after the favor you did me, why shouldn’t I be?” the voice continued in Russian with obvious mirth.

16:30:48 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

The big russky paused. Favor?

"Well it iz always good to meet old friends, Da? Perhaps you come down we split mocha and talk of old times."

Ivan wasn't buying the guys slick line. Favor his left foot. Whoever he was he knw more about Ivan than the troll was comfortable with.

16:30:59 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"That may not be a bad idea, but right now isn't the best time to be seen together. And that's why I'm calling. Despite our past relationship, you're too valuable to me to have you getting killed for no good reason." the voice said, becoming a bit more earnest.

16:31:30 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"Ok, so what iz it that you want?"

16:31:44 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"At the very least to watch your back. Some people are coming in town that aren't as....progressive as I am, and they may want to settle some scores on principle. I don't want to give them the chance to. Which is why I'm calling you."

15:07:16 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - The Respite Soup Kitchen, Touristville

John refilled his soykaf on the way back. Heading through the kitchen, he grabbed a sandwich off of a platter and made his way to the small storage area. As Max had said, there were several boxes of second-hand clothing. He quickly selected a few items, before heading off to the restroom, finishing the sandwich on the way.

He quickly cleaned his jacket as well as possible, then removed his pants and did the same for them. After, he held up the pants to inspect his work, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. Frag, but it looks like I fraggin' wet myself now.

A quick glance around showed that there were a few hot air dryers common to public restrooms installed along one wall. The first one he tried didn't work, though the second did, so John stood and held his pants up so that they could dry. He was still standing like that, in boots, boxers, and bloody shirt, when one of the gangers walked in and froze in his tracks. A smile slowly spread across the kid's face as he turned and hurried from the room.

What the frag was that all about? Shaking his head, the old runner turned back to the dryer.


15:12:43 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - The Respite Soup Kitchen, Touristville

John walked out of the kitchen tugging at his collar. He'd decided that cleaning his shirt was a lost cause. However, being armored, it was something that could not be left behind. Fortunately, he'd found a sweater in the storage room which did a pretty good job of covering up the mess. Unfortunately, it was both wool and very ugly. His coat and pants were still stained, but it didn't look like he'd carried a bleeding Chinese woman across half of Seattle anymore.

As he made his way towards the area where Max and the others waited, he could hear some of the other gangers making a noise as he passed. Something like, "Whooooosh!" It meant nothing to him, but they apparently found it hilarious. It wasn't until he made it to the couch and noticed the kid from the bathroom seated next to a grinning Tyler that he got the joke. "Oh, I get it. You drek-heads are all he-fraggin-larious."

They all collapsed in laughter, punctuated by the whoosh-ings and calls of "Nice sweater!" John shook his head and turned to where Max stood, a bemused expression on his refined features. As the two men exchanged stories, something clicked for the old runner. Frag! How didja miss that before? You gotta stay sharper than that, chummer.

"Max, I hate ta tell ya, but I can't go into the Arcology with you. That's place has some of the tightest fraggin' security in the whole 'plex. No way I get my chromed hoop past them sniffers. An' you better not take any weapons in there."

Max looked surprised. "Yes, I guess that didn't occur to me. What do you suggest?"

John looked back over his shoulder at the kids. "You fraggers about finished? We got work ta do. Any of you want to come with me an' Max to the Arcology Mall? I need some of you to go in and watch his hoop while he meets with some people. You gotta be subtle, don't make it clear you're with him, but stay where he can see you. If you spot any sign of heat, give 'im a signal. If nothing comes up, just wait for him to leave and follow in a couple minutes. Any takers?"

16:31:44 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS


Ivan let out a low growl, "Vory, Da? What iz past iz past, but nyet wit them. Thank you for the warning comrade, iz there anything else I should be knowing?"

15:28:01 Tuesday 09 January 2063 - The Respite Soup Kitchen, Touristville

When John had finally sorted out who was going and who was staying, the rag-tag group moved out to the cars.

Before leaving Max handed John the gym bag containing most of his gear.

“They probably have sensors checking cars as well, so you better take this in the van with the rest of the group. Besides I have other ways of defending myself.” He said before getting into his black Westwind.

“I’ll go in through the parking garage, while you drop the “kids” off closer to the entrance, that should give them enough time to get to the food court and have a look around before I get there.”

He could see that John really didn’t like the idea of him going in alone, but they both knew that to do otherwise would be risky.

“Yeah, I know be careful.” He said before he had to hear that phrase again, and ducked into his car.

Max hit the ignition and slowly pulled his car to the front of the alley where he waited until the rest of the crew was inside John’s van.

Max’s gloved hand reached out and punched the code for his digi-select music library into the Truetronics Enviro-Sound System summoning forth a re-mastered Seattle Symphony Orchestra’s version of Wagner’s Die Valkyrie.

When every one was in the van Max pulled his car out onto the streets. His spirit riding with the music. Max was again on the hunt.

He wasn’t really sure when he had started thinking of his search for Keira as a “hunt”. He had always been a driven man. You didn’t get to be the youngest professor at a major University by letting others do things for you. Max could be stubborn and dogged in his pursuit of knowledge, but he had not until recently used the term hunt, to describe his actions. It was a base and instinctual word, almost primal, nothing like Max, but since his change, that feeling, that drive, had become more pronounced in him. More so since Keira had been taken. She had been a friend, and while Max had hoped that their relationship might move beyond friendship in time, most sane people would have either given up by now or “just let Knight Errant do its job.” But that wasn’t enough for Max. He had to find her. He needed too. The thought of giving up the “Hunt” seemed ludicrous. A friend was out there in need of help and Max was damn well going to help her.

13:11:20 Friday 12 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

“Sure, how bad can it be?” Tony said with a grin, motioning to the barkeep/waiter to come over.

13:50 Friday 12 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

After an edible, but not much more informative lunch, Tony left Zeyda still sitting in his booth. Walking outside into the already shadowed and still freezing day, he made his way down the block toward the parking garage. More weird drek going on. Big stuff. Soon. Well, I just what to know enough to stay the hell out of whatever-fragging-group is doing whatever they’re doing. I’ve got other things to do, he thought, trying to wrap his coat around him tighter as a blast of wind cut down the sidewalk. Making it to his car, he decided that with some work coming up, he might want to knock some rust off over at Sung’s. After a shivering walk for a couple of blocks, he started his car and turned up the heat, setting the autonav and pulling out of the garage.

14:20 Friday 12 January 2063 - Sung's Dojo 1544 E. Pine St. Suite 115, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Tony walked into the storefront just as the group of kids was bowing its goodbye to Sung. A few parents waited outside the dojo on their children, but many of the kids walked home alone, judging by the size of the parental crowd. Looking over the kids, Tony didn’t see the troll from earlier in the week. Sung noticed him as the kids were leaving, and motioned him over as the crown moved toward the door.

“How’s that troll doing?” Tony asked after bowing.

“Still as headstrong as ever. Picked a fight yesterday after Sam left. I had him in here for an extra hour cleaning the tops of the lockers in back,” Sung said, moving to pick up a broom to clean the mat. “So, what brings you by?”

“Ah, just need to swing a sword around a bit. My landlord got onto me last time I did in my parking lot,” Tony said, grabbing a broom himself to help tidy up a bit. “That is, if you’re not too tired,” he continued, leaning on the broom and raising an eyebrow.

“Well, help me clean up a bit first. I don’t want you slipping and saying that you got hit by an old man because of some dirt,” Sung laughed back.

“You couldn’t hit me even if I was blindfolded and flat on my back, old man,” Tony laughed back, grabbing a dustpan and moving toward the mat.

16:10 Friday, 12 January 2063, Capitol Hill Terrace, 1404 E. 14th Ave Apt 203, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS

Yeah, he could hit me if I was blindfolded. Probably if he was blindfolded too, Tony thought as he walked into his apartment. Despite years of training and practice under him, Sung had apparently kept some tricks to himself, as evidenced by the welt on Tony’s wrist that, if the practice swords were as sharp as the katana that greeted him as he walked in, would have taken his hand off at the wrist. Still, Tony had gotten in his share of hits in, and overall it did help to sharpen his mind and take it off of his conversation with Salvo earlier in the day. Taking off his clothes and lying on the couch, he set his trideo for a 1830 wakeup call, turned the station to some news, and dozed off on the couch

16:31:44 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Westlake Center, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"You know, the past isn't very far behind anyone. And with your past, I'd make sure that it doesn't even get in sight. Be seeing you, comrade." the voice said, and then ended the call.

16:32:05 Wednesday 10 January 2063- Rosemont Beach, Bellvue, Seattle, UCAS

"Alexi, stop looking at me like that," Roman said from his chair. The bald man across from him took the cigar out of his mouth.

"You should..."

'I know what I should do, and that is to leave him alone." Roman said, cutting the bald man off. "We don't reward people by killing them. Now, do you want to make the call, or should I?" Alexi shrugged, and picked up the phone next to him.

18:00:01 Friday, 12 January 2063, Capitol Hill Terrace, 1404 E. 14th Ave Apt 203, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS

The buzz of the telecom's alarm pulls Tony from a restless sleep. Reaching over, he silences the alarm, rubbing his eyes before checking the clock.

Six? I set the alarm for six thirty, didn't I?

18:00:15 Friday, 12 January 2063, Capitol Hill Terrace, 1404 E. 14th Ave Apt 203, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS

Yeah, I think I did. Unless I was dreaming that too Tony thought, flopping his arm over on the table for a glass of water and turning up the news channel on the trideo. Thumbing the remote clumsly with a half-asleep arm, he pulled up his mail as well. Hell, maybe it was that he thought, thinking slowly while he woke up.